Four-Way Meeting
by staringatstars07
Summary: A mishap results in the turtles being separated from each other, with no one to turn to except other versions of themselves.
1. Chapter 1

A/N:Here's a little something I made for perspective practice and fluff purposes.

Raph/Mikey = 2003

Orange/Red = 2012

The narrators are the 2014 versions of Mike and Raphael.

1987 versions are usually referred to by description.

* * *

"What were you _thinking?!_ " I yank the smaller turtle up by his shoulders, resisting the urge to try and physically shake some sense into him. "You can't just rush into battle without a plan like that. What if that stunt you just pulled had gotten us all killed?"

He flinches.

As he should.

Though I do hope he's flinching because he's in the process of realizing that what he just did was really, really dumb, and not because I'm currently lifting him off the ground with all the ease of lifting a feather, or because of the fact that compared to him and the other two small fry, I might as well be the Incredible Hulk. Did they forget to eat their spinach growing up or something?

He lowers his shiny blue eyes so he can look at me – _Ah, shell. I didn't mean to make him cry_ \- mouth wobbling a little with a sprinkling of guilt, enough fear to make my stomach sink, and an impressive amount of defiance.

The two other Michelangelos' - one all curves and marshmallow edges, the other shorter than me but taller than Little Orange, bulkier, older, more battle worn - are exhausted from the recent battle, each sporting a grim expression that doesn't look quite natural on any of us. They're beaten, bruised, and clearly upset with how I'm handling the situation, but they haven't tried to stop me yet, apparently content to hover judgmentally on the outskirts of the spooky, fog-covered docks we all magically popped up on, so I guess they at least agree that the kid needs to hear what I've got to say.

Man, I hate yelling at me. I hate yelling at people in general, but this really bites.

Little Orange trembles under my hands like a scared puppy. "You can yell at me all you want but I'm never gonna think that saving someone was the wrong move. That lady needed our help. The Kraang were gonna-"

"So we come up with a plan," I hiss back, not quite having the heart to tell him that the 'lady' we saved had tried to blast him during the fight. Something pink and gooey had crawled out of a hatch in her stomach after I recovered from taking the hit and shoved her away from him, and it's still got me pretty freaked out. "Your dad taught you the 'ways of the ninja' and all that, right?" And even in this situation, a silly imitation of Dad's voice slips in. "Does the word 'stealth' ring any bells?"

He scowls, a fierce expression on anyone else, but he's about as intimidating as a small kitten so a sliver of amusement forces its way past some of the anger and shock powering this impromptu lecture. For a moment, I contemplate pretending to be scared, just to give him a confidence boost. "Yes. I've only had to sit through lectures like ten billion times." He cocks his head. "Aren't you supposed to be me? Why do you sound like Leo?"

Mikey – the one with the prominent New York accent - chokes on a laugh behind me. Let's see if he's laughing next time someone has to be the bad guy and he's mysteriously volunteered. "You ever think that if you actually learned your lesson, you wouldn't have to keep hearing the same lecture?"

Oh my gosh. I _do_ sound Leo. Bad mouth.

There's a light touch on my arm. I look down to see the marshmallow-y version of me standing at eye level with my hips. Seriously, how are these guys so small? And where are their lips?

"Hey," he starts with a long, slow drawl, "you think you could let the little guy down? We should get out of here."

He's right. The bubblegum robot aliens could come back with reinforcements, and we've gotta be scarce before that happens. But Little Orange looks as stubborn as ever, which means nothing I said got through to him, which means he might try going all Rambo on us and leaping into danger again, which means I might not be able to protect him next time, and I don't know how I'm supposed to get through to him that my shell's still smoking from taking a blast that would have killed him if I hadn't gotten there in time.

Unlike my brothers and I, he wasn't raised from the start to fight with a team, and I get that, but there's a steep learning curve and the consequences of failing are something he needs to be made aware so it doesn't wind up being the last thing he ever learns. Finally, I take out another page of Master Splinter's great big book of parenting and say, "Fine. But we're going to continue this conversation later, young man."

Yeah. You heard me. I said 'young man.' I mean business.

Predictably, Little Orange rolls his eyes.

And since I was literally seconds away from putting him down, it just makes sense that my brother Raphael and all his bad tempered, red-masked buddies choose that precise moment to find me still lifting Little Orange over my head like he's the world's worst umbrella.

One of the Raphaels takes one look at the scene and charges. "Put him down, ugly!"

 _Ow._ Name-calling? Really?

* * *

It figures four hot heads would be three too many. Well, more like three hot heads and a sarcastic little squirt.

"So, big guy, where'd you get your juice?"

I look down at him, insulted. "I don't do steroids." My voice comes out in a low growl that doesn't sound the slightest bit like Batman – Okay, maybe it does. Bite me. - but none of the red-banded turtles seem the least bit cowed. If anything, Red's been throwing curious glances my way for the past thirty minutes. What does he want, anyway? Weight-lifting tips?

Mini-Me pretends to look offended, all wide eyes and fake gasp. "Steroids? Who's talking about those? I wanted to know where you get your orange juice." Red huffs out a laugh at the lame joke, probably because he's so used to them. Raph rolls his eyes good-naturedly, then says with an accent that screams 'Brooklyn, born and raised', "Better you than me, buddy." And I'm glad they're all having a good time at my expense. Really.

"So," Red locks eyes with me, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, "are all your brothers walking dinosaurs or are you just lucky?"

Raph cuffs him upside the head, though it seems like he's doing it more out of habit than out of any genuine concern for my soft, gooey center. "Hey, don't be rude. We just met him. Once we get to know him better, we can be as rude as we want."

Not if you want your head to stay on your shoulders, you can't.

"Why am I even traveling with you bozos?" I wonder aloud.

Red shrugs, "You're right. Why don't you go do your own thing, and when we find our brothers first, we'll send you a postcard." See? This is why the four of us shouldn't be traveling together. It's nothing but 24/7 sarcasm with this crowd.

Something catches Red's eye and he darts a few steps ahead, leaving me with a hand gripping my head in a mix of irritation and unease. He doesn't seem the sort to run off without a good reason. Strike that. I know he isn't.

Fear flickers across his face; chased away quickly by a rage that transforms the little guy from annoying to someone I'd really hate to get on the bad side of. And in case I wasn't entirely sure that he was another version of me, now there's no doubt.

He charges past the stacks of crates blocking most of our view, a scream ripping out of his chest, and I can hear Raph cursing creatively under his breath as he moves to follow him. Kid or not, he's one of us. If he's heading into a fight, we'll back him up.

Well, I say that, but the only way any of them are getting injured is over my dead body.

"Put him down, ugly!"

Looking ahead, I see that he's absolutely correct. The guy he's looking at is ugly. Unfortunately, he also happens to be my brother. And, to be honest, the scene does look bad. He's got his own bite-sized version of him hanging by the shoulders. But even with the seriousness of the situation, I have to bite back a chuckle. I've never seen Mike look so despairingly annoyed before.

Guess hanging out with himself must have really taken a toll on him.

Luckily, he's not a complete bonehead, so he drops the squirming turtle in the orange mask and raises his hands up; his 'chucks still dangling uselessly from the wrap around his waste. Red still wants to deal some damage, though, so I lift him up by his shell to keep him from poking holes in someone I have exclusive hole-poking rights to. "Listen, kid, I know how it looks, and I'm not really sure what we just walked in on, but Mike's not a bad guy. I don't think he was gonna hurt your brother."

Instead of replying, Red lets out a furious yelp, twists, and actually manages to land a hard kick on my plastron. Then another. And another. And another.

…This is gonna be a long day, isn't it?

Once the kid calmed down enough to remember we were all on the same side, I set him down, gesturing for Michelangelo to meet me out of earshot. He nods, trotting over almost immediately, though I saw the way he watched Red zip to check on Orange, who was babbling something about being absolutely terrified.

Raising an eye-ridge, I can't help but ask, "What'd ya do to him, Mike?"

He shrugs, flicking guilty glances back at the two, who were currently acting like they'd been apart for two days, when really they'd only been separated for, at most, two hours. And I'd never admit it, not even under torture, but it's kind of nice to know that there's a version of me in the multiverse that isn't all that embarrassed about showing he cares. I could learn from him. I probably won't, but I could. I mean, the option's there. "I didn't mean to scare him. He jumped into a fight without thinking, none of had time to come up with a plan and we got our shells handed to us. He needed a talk, and Leo wasn't available, so…" He trails off, letting me fill in the blanks.

Now that I'm looking, there's a bit a black charring radiating from the center of his shell. I grit my teeth. That sort of thing's not supposed to happen when I'm not around. No fights. Nobody gets hurt. And the bad guys definitely don't get away before I can pound them. "Well, what'd ya expect, Mike? He's you. How's it feel to have to keep an eye on yourself."

He looks back and I follow his gaze to see all the little guys have reunited. Raph's got an arm around his Mikey's neck, the two of them hunched slightly as one of his hands kneads the top of his little brother's head in an affectionate 'it's good to see you, doofus' noogie.

The two who talk like they're stuck in the 80's greeted each other with a quick hug, followed by the one in orange patting his red-banded brother fondly. The way he looks at him makes it obvious that somehow the Michelangelo from that universe is the older of the pair. The thought throws me for a loop. What would life even be like if Mike were older than me?

I'll tell ya what - it'd be a disaster.

I glance back at Mike, wondering if he's gonna answer me sometime this century, and notice something dark in his expression. Instinctively, I want it gone. "Mike, I don't know how much you're thinking right now, but try not to hurt yourself."

He shakes his head, turning back to me with that odd expression still playing at the edges. "It's terrifying, Raph. Scarier than the Shredder. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to these guys."

Ah. So that's the problem. He's had his moments where he's had to look out for us, but Leo, Don, and me - we can defend ourselves, so most of the time he gets to be the goofball, the kid, and now, thanks to this little meet-and-greet, he's found out a little of what it's like to put the games aside because there's someone younger and smaller that needs you looking out for them. Someone you'd give up anything for if it just meant they could safe and whole for one more day.

Unconsciously mimicking the others, I wrap an arm around him, though I make sure to keep my voice gruff so I don't sound like a complete sap when I say, "Welcome to Big Bro-hood. It's a tough job, but it's worth the perks."

And speaking of perks, Orange comes trotting over - apparently against Red's wishes, based on the scowl he's got cemented in our direction. It's an action that has Mike staring down at him in slack jawed confusion as he says, "I didn't really thank you, and when we find our way home, I probably won't get the chance, so I figured I'd come over and say thanks for saving me, you know, before." He finishes off the sentence with a blinding beam, the sort of smile that's so bright it looks like the sun with teeth.

Mike takes the time to swallow while his brain tries to process that. _Come on, Mike, it's gratitude. Not the key to the city._ Once it does, it's like a timer goes off and he just lights up, a wide grin spreading over his face. "Anytime, lil' dude."

It's cute. The way they're smiling at each other like a couple of morons, but I'm pretty sure the kid doesn't realize that Mike would literally die for him now, and that's gonna be a problem because it means more work for me, it being my full-time job to keep his dopey self breathing and all.

"Great." I overhear Red mutter from a few feet away. "First Leatherhead, now this guy. The last thing Mike needs is his own personal army of giant mutants."

Without meaning to, I echo his groan. This compels him to let me know the echo was unappreciated by glowering sharply in my direction. Fortunately, being the current reigning champion of death glares and bad attitude, it doesn't bother me much. Sure, I regret ever getting out of bed this morning and kind of want to find something or somebody to punch, but that just means I'm awake.

Once we find Leo and Don, though, they're taking over. Dad didn't train us in ninjitsu for fifteen years so we could babysit a bunch of half-pints.

"Hey, Raph?" Judging by the storm cloud's gathering on Red's brow and the fists clenched at his sides, Mike's doing something dumb. I turn around, and sure enough, he's hugging Red's kid brother like a plushy. "Can I keep him?"


	2. Chapter 2

Master Splinter always told me that, as leader, I had to be prepared for everything. My brother's lives depend on my ability to have a solution for every problem, a plan for every scenario. Before today, I thought he was talking about ambushes, traps – not being thrown into another dimension and separated. My playbook doesn't cover that.

After running into three other versions of myself, though, it became clear that I was the only one with this particular problem because, apart from myself, all turtles present had a firm grasp on the reality of interdimensional travel. From what I could tell, Leo and the other, smaller version of Leo, have met each other before. They were chatting amiably while Blue, frustrated by our lack of progress, let loose a string of low mutters as he paced in front of us. Every now and then, he'll throw a cautious glance my way, and though he's been nothing but respectful so far, I can tell that being separated from his team is weighing on him. He's tearing himself up with worry, restless and anxious like not knowing where his brothers are is a rare, borderline terrifying experience. And, well... it's not like I can't relate to that.

"We have to find them," he finally snaps after his twelfth round of pacing. "We can't just sit around here-"

Leo cuts him off with a sharp, frustrated exhale, placing a hand on the back of his head as he says, "Look, I get it. You're not used to having them out of your sight. We've all been there." And it's never a good sign. "But we can't go running off without a plan, right?"

And then there's fight flashing in Blue's eyes that overrides his self restraint, a familiar anger rising so close to the surface that I can't help but marvel at how young he seems when stomps over to the taller ninja and demands to know just when exactly they're going to start formulating a plan. Because simply waiting for them to show up isn't a plan.

Once his outburst is finished, Leo raises an eye ridge while the turtle at his side chuckles. Blue flushes, most likely feeling ashamed after losing his temper in front of two versions of himself who seem so much more mature than he is… and me. I get it, though. Even the rounder, soft-edged version of us gives off this Master-Splinter-meets-Zen vibe that's triggering Blue's desire to impress. Compared to those two, I feel clumsy, over-sized and unneeded.

But whether or not I contribute to this new team is up to me, it always has been, so I step closer, pretending not to notice the way Blue tenses, the way the other two calmly follow my movements. "My brothers aren't the type to come to those who wait, either. If they're in a group like us, then that's a lot of headstrong personalities to deal with. Knowing them, I'd say they picked a destination by unanimous decision… or they're standing in a circle still arguing about where to go."

"Actually," Leo says, "Don's pretty easygoing. I can't see him being stubborn about a destination." That's a good point. Donatello has a tendency to go in pretty much whatever direction I point… I knew he was my favorite brother for a reason. When the other two refrain from commenting, Leo and I cock our heads to the side, mildly bemused by their silence. "Your Donatello's probably even-tempered too, right?"

Blue and the smaller Leonardo with the surprisingly deep voice exchange an uneasy glance. "Actually, easygoing and even-tempered aren't words I'd generally use to describe him. Obsessive, neurotic, consistently sarcastic… that sounds about right."

The other Leonardo shrugs, joining the conversation with, "I guess I'll add aloof and introverted to that list. I'm not sure how happy Donatello will be if he finds out he's not the smartest guy in the room." It sounds like my brother has his work cut out for him. That doesn't mean I'm not glad I'm not him, though. It's the little things in life that make it worth living.

"Alright," I interrupt, talking directly to the kid, "so with the possible exclusion of Don, where do you think your brothers would most want to go?" Though Mike and Raph were more than willing to pick a fight with me any day of the week, I had a strong inkling that they wouldn't put up as much resistance with a baby ninja in their ranks.

Not that I'd ever tell Blue that. Those katana on his back aren't for show, after all. And, unlike a certain hot head I could mention, I have a healthy respect for people that carry sharp, pointy objects within arm's reach.

Blue thinks for a second, his eyes screwed up with focus and indecision before he decides to take a chance and tell me, "My brothers and I grew up underground, so I think, if they had a choice, they'd head for the ocean. Raph and Mikey tend to go nuts when they don't have enough room to move."

It's not much to go on, but it's a start, which is more than we had before. I nod to show my support, then the other two follow suit and Blue breathes a sigh of relief, the slightest of smiles taking up residence on his face when Leo says, "Then it's settled. We'll head towards the ocean." Throwing a distasteful glance at the boxes and crates stacked around them, he adds, "I was getting sick of all these obstacles, anyway. Too many blind spots."

And since it is absolutely forbidden by some law of the Universe that fate be tempted without consequence, a neon pink light flashes in the distance, followed by a cloud of smoke.

The other three go pale, leaving me with the distinct impression that I've missed something, but I know my brothers don't carry pink explosives, so something bad is going down and there's not a snowball's chance in hell that our brothers aren't involved, somehow.

From that point on, break time's over. We launch into motion, our weapons simultaneously drawn. In one stride, one breath, we've gone from relaxed to armed and dangerous.

Unsurprisingly, Blue outpaces us; panic fueling his burst of adrenaline, though Leo and the other Leonardo seem to traveling at a more sedate pace. While Blue doesn't react to this beyond the occasional backwards scowl, I'm curious. So far, there haven't been any wild differences in personality between us, so what's the reason for this sudden divide? I lag behind Blue, keeping sure to remain a few paces ahead of the others so I can catch what they're muttering amongst themselves. With that said, they caught on to me immediately, rolling their eyes slightly before the smaller Leonardo leans closer to Leo as he ran and says possibly for my benefit, "You don't believe they're actually in danger, do you?"

Leo shakes his head. "No way. It'll take more than pink smoke to get Raph, Leo, or Don to break a sweat. But it's kind of nostalgic how worked up he's getting. Reminds me of myself when Master Splinter first allowed my brothers and I to venture up to the surface."

A wry grin tugs at the sides of his companion's mouth when he replies, "You thinking of taking him on as an apprentice?"

In response, Leo stares at the small, tensed back ahead of us, something fond crinkling his blue eyes. It's not hard to see he already likes the kid. "Don't tempt me."

It sounds like they're kidding, though Leo probably wishes he wasn't. Having yourself as an apprentice would be a dream. After all, you'd already know your student's strengths and weaknesses, and all the best ways to help them learn. Well, that'd be the idea, but I'm beginning to wonder if we're really as similar as being each other's alternate counterparts would lead us to believe.

Blue stops short, relief spreading through his body like wildfire. It doesn't take long for us to spot the cause.

"No!" A mini-Raph yanks what I can only assume is Blue's Mikey away from my Mikey with a glower that screams 'don't touch.'

Blue barrels into them, laughing, and they wrap around each other, a perfect fit. At my sides, Leo and smaller Leonardo spot their own brothers, and their breathing evens out, their previous exertion forgotten in the face of the new energy flowing through their veins, the thrill of being reunited once more with their team.

Michelangelo waves cheerfully from where he's standing while Raphael crosses his arms. "When ya gonna stop grinning like a doofus and get over here, Leo?"

Huh. Am I? I didn't even realize.

…Guess we're pretty similar, after all.

* * *

I am plagued by the distinct feeling that my brothers are currently taking part in far less trying encounters than I am. "Using long words to sound intelligent doesn't actually make you intelligent. You know that, right?" This is what I have to put up with. Personally, I found the Shredder's company preferable.

Though the exact time and cause of our entrance to this limbo dimension is uncertain, I've arrived at a theory that our current predicament is the result of some criminal action I partook in in a past life. In short, I am being punished.

The Donatello from the late 1980's, judging by his distinct way of speaking and dated cultural references, catches my deep, heartfelt sigh and scowls, "I am doing my best to inform you that the best way to flaunt your intelligence is not with overly complicated words or obfuscation, what you need is in-depth knowledge of a variety of subjects. Genuine intellect beats superficial any day of the week." Every now and then, Don, a version of myself who seems to be rather accustomed to talking down aggravated turtles, attempts to convince him to engage in a more pertinent topic, but it would seem his extreme dislike for my existence is not easily forgotten.

Purple, on the whole, seems wholely amused by the exchange and not the least bit inclined to come to my aid. Out of all of us, his appearance most closely resembles the growth rate and form of a human adolescent, which would really be quite fascinating were I currently not otherwise engaged.

"My, what an extensive vocabulary you have," I mutter combatively when Donatello turns around, because he's had his say and now I'm ready for mine.

He whirls around, "What was that?"

"My apologies. Let me spell it out for you. Your point is that I am especially skilled at saying much while in actuality I am saying nothing of importance, but what exactly has your antiquated knowledge of the world contributed?"

An embarrassed cough came from my right. I turned to see Don looking sheepish on my behalf. "Actually, he made a dimensional portal out of a flashlight."

 _"What?!"_

A flashlight? That's improbable – no – impossible… Wait…

Brow raised, I regarded the unbearably smug looking version of myself with this new information in mind, "You can make a dimensional portal out of a flashlight?"

Purple caught on before I had to spell it out, his voice shrill and scratchy as he shrieks, "Then what are we still doing here?!" Most of us carry flashlights in case of emergency. "Hurry up and make one!" After affecting a more demure demeaor, he scuffs his foot, ducks his head, and adds, "And then teach me how to do it, please."

Bristling under the sudden negative attention, Donatello responds, "Well, we can't just leave without the others, now can we?" It's an admirable defense, but it doesn't convince anyone. Because, obviously, he'd forgotten about this particular skill and, for the time being, no one is going to be criticizing my tendency for sesquipedalian loquaciousness. It's a good day.

By the time we reach the harbor, our brothers seem to be getting along just fine without us. Mike and his counterparts are taking part in a passionate discussion regarding the merits of each dimension's superheroes, with Orange reciting pages of dialogue from his comic books word for word, Raphael is sparring with two of his fiercer counterparts while one sits on the sidelines, providing invaluable snarky commentary until Raph throws something at him, and the Leo's are discussing their progression in their respective sword styles. It' a shame that we interrupted this little party with a way back home, but some of us would rather not spend the rest of their lives stranded in the middle of nowhere.

I'm not heartless, though. If my brothers want to stay and hang out a little longer, I'm won't argue. Not too much, anyway. Additionally, there's a high probability that this dimension exists out of time, so we can spend as much time as we want here without shirking our responsibilities or worrying our father.

Raphael laughs, a short, genuine burst, Michelangelo starts swinging his squealing counterparts around like he's a theme park ride, and Leonardo looks the most relaxed I've seen him in years as the conversation moves from sword techniques to favorite kata.

Don and Purple sidle up next to me, with Mr. Know-It-All trailing not far behind, and I decide I'm going to make the most of this, too. "You guys still think I'm a pretend genius or something?"

"I never said that," Don says immediately, and I shrug to inform him that there are no hard feelings between us.

"What do you say we compare notes, then? Find out just who the real geniuses are." And if they take it as a challenge, that's their prerogative. Knowing it's a challenge, a challenge I plan to employ every modicum of my not inconsiderable knowledge to win? That's mine.


End file.
